


Lola

by jambi462



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10026434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambi462/pseuds/jambi462
Summary: Lola's POV.For all the destruction you sow like bread-crumbs, it feels good for once to treat something so it doesn't rust.





	1. Chapter 1

You're a freshman; all sticky pink lip gloss and doe-eyed smiles. You're riding shotgun in a senior's pride and joy - an old secondhand station wagon with a paint job faded plaster red. You suppose it's not as glamorous as you'd imagined, but the breeze in your hair from the open window and the stereo cranked up louder than your dad would ever have dared gives you a sense of freedom unfamiliar to you yet at this crossroads in your life. You hate to admit you're a cliché but it really is too easy to impress a girl your age.

You're not sure where you're going - a party somewhere in New Coventry, hosted by someone you've never met - that's all you know.

Despite what the hand on your thigh suggests, you're not all that acquainted with your driver either. Some jock too popular to be considered a creep but not popular enough to get with girls his own age.  
He tells you it's because you're different from other girls, and you let yourself believe that this is all because you're _special_. You wish your peers could expand their vocabulary beyond _"easy"_ \- you're sick of hearing that word.

You've only been hanging around with him for a few weeks. You met through a friend of a friend, and you wondered what that friend had said about you because this boy had been eager to get to know you ever since. It makes you feel good that someone would want to get to know you.

You make a remark about him keeping his hands at _"ten and two"_ and he snorts. He seems surprised that you'd managed to make a joke.  
It was the sort of thing your dad would say - always talking about car safety. You wonder what your parents would make of their little girl now, but you decide it doesn't matter, because you're not with your parents. They sent you here, and when they call to check in you only really need to tell them about your grades and they're just happy you're getting better in English. They don't need to know what you do in your spare time.

When you get out of the car you're greeted by the wandering eyes of your companion's peers. They're already drunk and leering, and it reminds you of all the times you'd come downstairs in the evenings fully dressed in pajamas and still feel as naked as the day you were born when a family friend - old enough to be your dad and with breath ripe with the stench of liquor - would compliment your body's development, like it was something you controlled. The first time you had the pleasure of that experience was in 7th grade.

Your mom soon warned you that men only want one thing, that the reason they pinch and grope and call across the street is because they cant control their animalistic urges. That they're simpler beings than women. Boys will be boys.

The thing that made you feel more disgusted than the comments was the way you found yourself hitching your skirt up just that little bit more whenever you walked past a group of boys, even men; that you left a few more buttons undone when you knew your dad had friends over.

You choose to delude yourself, and it works. You feel wanted, and you feel good.

Even now when your head is spinning from your first ever shots and you're not sure you can even feel it that much when someone much taller and stronger pries open your mouth with their tongue - rough and sloppy but you don't care. They didn't ask anyway.   
All you know is that even having your hair pulled can feel like a kiss when you're desperate enough.

You're on your knees being introduced to someone's zipper and your memory kind of blacks out there.  
All you know is that this party leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and on the way back being driven above the speed limit by someone you wouldn't trust right now to operate a microwave, you let the tears fall.

When you get out your driver kisses you on the forehead and that gentle act makes everything better. This is why you let these things happen to you, it pays off in the end, right?

You tell him not to let the word get out about the things you do, and he tells you he'll keep it your secret. Even you're not so naïve that you believe that, though - they always go bragging to their stupid friends, and that's what you're counting on. That's how you keep the validation going, so that when you get thrown away there's someone waiting their turn. 

It seems a double standard that you always end up the one with the bad reputation, while these older boys seem to avoid the moral judgement, but that's just how it is. Boys will be boys.

When you cry again that night, still dizzy and emotional, your roommate doesn't notice and you're grateful for it in the morning. You vowed never to show weakness.

Part of you wishes she'd be your friend, but the other half knows that it will never be enough. All the friends in the world wouldn't be enough.

This is what you want though, isn't it?

 


	2. Chapter 2

That boy who keeps trying to drown himself in the fountain taught you about philosophy.  
It's good to know you're not the only one around here with such little faith in humanity, but you're still not quite sure how someone so miserable ended up the school mascot.

It hits a nerve when he isn't interested in your advances. You're not even interested in him, and this wasn't about his approval to begin with - it was all just because you needed someone with deft hands to swipe Mandy's diary for you - but after all your attempts at charm and seduction fail it becomes a matter of principle.

Why are you not good enough?

When all the other little girls used to play princess, you were more attracted to the idea of being a queen.  
You didn't trust in fairytales, they lacked substance. You preferred to hear about Cleopatra; Helen of Troy. Women so beautiful it was _power_ , not just an inconvenient expectation of their femininity.

By sophomore year you've already conquered most of Bullworth. You know there's more to the world than the confines of these brick walls but this is your empire and all of these boys are your loyal subjects, why is that not enough for you?

Because the sting of rejection burns. An unbearable, searing pain that makes you want to claw at your skin until it all comes off and you're someone new. You know this isn't right or natural, but you've been this way for as long as you can remember. Rejection is strange, because before you experience it you're Schrodinger's girl. Simultaneously worthy and worthless, all at once. It would be easier to never put yourself out there, but without the attention you feel hollow, and that can be just as bad.

But right now you want to scream, cry, beg - _why don't you want me?_ You can feel your crown slipping.

Your bargaining becomes more desperate as he remains as apathetic as always, and maybe it's the frustration in your voice or the fact you look seconds away from tears, but you soon find out he's obsessed with Pinky. It's killing him, no-one else will do. He seems genuinely sorry for that. In fact, it seems to be one of those variables which can't be controlled - you're sure that if he had the choice it would be any other way.

You're still bitter, but you know how it is. You can have the best thing imaginable and still feel empty because you're missing something basic. That thing becomes essential, and no matter how magnificent the things you try to fill the void there will always be that primal essential _need_.

You're not sure how the conversation evolves, but he ends up talking to you about suffering - pretty standard for Constantinos, apparently.  
He tells you about this theory that we suffer for a reason, that it's supposed to be soul-making. You think it sounds stupid, and he agrees. He thinks that a lot of the time the things you go through break you instead.

You wonder if that rings true for you.  
In your experience, people are users - you've been taken advantage of when you were vulnerable, you've been used willing or not.  
You wonder if that's shaped who you are today.

The only problem is, you can't tell if you've been made or broken or made to be broken.  
You're stronger than you ever used to be, and rejection withstanding there's very little that can bring you down. God knows you're nothing like the meek, naïve girl you were not even a year ago. You're in control now, or at least you can convince yourself you are.

You're confident in everything you do now. Every thought you have is right, every step you take is correct. You know this because you won't let anyone tell you otherwise.

When Mandy calls you cheap; slut, you bite the bitch back.

_"If Justin offered you a billion dollars, would you sleep with him?"_

_She thinks about it._   
_"Uh, yeah? That's like a shit-ton of money?"_

_"What if he offered you one dollar?"_

_She's outraged._   
_"Ew! I'm not a whore like you! what kind of girl do you think I am?"_

_You give her a wry smile and get to the punchline._   
_"Well we already figured that out, now we're just negotiating."_

At least you're good at what you do.

But then again, you're still not sure if this is what you want. You break hearts for fun and profit, and it makes you feel good, but only because that's what you think humanity does. Stepping all over each other for personal gain or to get their filthy kicks.

You'd probably be a different person in different circumstances, and that keeps you awake at night.  
This is it, though, you've been boxed into this one identity and you're not sure if you'd ever be able to live up to anything else.

You get urges to completely reinvent yourself, run away and be someone new, but your eyelids always grow heavy with your fantasies and by morning you've forgotten how you felt the night before.

But power doesn't sustain you, money doesn't make you feel any better, and you're certain love can't exist for you beyond that shallow unfulfilling thing you think it must be. Maybe you are broken, because you sure as shit aren't happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a crappy stream-of-consciousness thing im sorry I don't even expect anyone to read it I just wanted to do some introspective shit for Lola bc I have a lot of feelings about her okay I think she's a manipulative GENIUS but I also think she has a heart underneath it all and I want to give her a ~journey~ instead of her just being that evil slut girl


	3. Chapter 3

Your hands don't burn in sin at the touch of metal the same way that they do on skin. You're baptised in oil, cleansed and forgiven. For all the destruction you sow like bread-crumbs, it feels good for once to treat something so it doesn't rust.

You came from a family that loves anything classic. Your brothers before you had a penchant for cars, so it came as no surprise that you'd find your home in a workshop.

Your dad is necessarily proud, thought it was cute that his little girl had a flair for mechanics. You swiftly make certain that you're just as proficient and twice as determined as the men who came before you.

You are to be taken seriously. Never again would you let the boys of men perceive you as any less than a viable threat.

There's finally something that makes you feel good about yourself; something in your control, something that can't be taken away from you.

Of course, your classmates scoff and patronise, and the worst of their sins is to ignore - they don't consider for a moment that you might beat them at their game. You aren't good for anything but a few gropes in the dark. Your reputation precedes you.

But while they spend their time butting heads trying to decide who reigns king of the apes, you put in the work to making your dream a reality. You look forward to a future on the open road, wind in your hair and the stereo so loud your bones shake, but this time you're behind the wheel.

Besides, they go quiet soon enough when the numbers go in and the report cards come out. Everyone quickly learns that Lola Lombardi is leaps and bounds ahead of the rest, followed by the shy, stunted and frequently victimized boy she'd smile to in solidarity while the rest were an embarrassment to themselves, trying to prove they were men. You learn his name is Pete, but you know what you both are to everyone on the outside. He's a nobody; you're everybody's, yet you've got far more to say for yourselves than the people who underestimate you.

Unavoidably, and perhaps a betrayal of the pink-shirted boy who you don't smile to as much anymore, those people who underestimated you end up being your people. After all, you're the Queen, and they'd finally picked their King. That's how you end up becoming one of the Greasers.

You find yourself laughing at their stupid jokes. Its shallow but it's comfortable, you'd never fit in before - always too loud, too quiet, too shy or too arrogant. Now you can just sit back and look pretty and watch your boys do reckless things, and as long as Johnny likes you they'll share their smokes and try not to judge.

You switch out cardigans and sticky sweet lip gloss for leather and lipstick; whorish red.   
You fall in love with 50's fashion and 80's movies and suddenly you've found where you belong. You cut your hair like the girl on the screen, and you decide on your definition of beauty. For the first time in your life you feel as beautiful as boys have always told you in low moans or behind gritted, canine teeth.

For the first time you're doing it for yourself - and when you choose to fake it til' you make it; act like you're the best - it's that little bit easier to pretend.


	4. Chapter 4

Despite what you thought, you just can't force yourself to fall in love with someone. No matter how many mountains they'd move for you.

You wish you could love Johnny, by God you'd be set, but you can't.

No matter how gentle he is when he inflicts his love upon you, nice hands and light touches; careful never to deprive you of air from the eagerness of his kiss. He's cautious and kind, but despite his best efforts that's what ends up suffocating you.

That asphyxiating love that wells inside him that you can't control. The way those nice hands dig into your waist like talons to pull you back in to his side, his body encompassing you like a dead end when another guy's gaze lingers too long. It's a gesture that reeks of animalistic rivalry and he can never understand how much it bothers you. You never wanted to be a prize or a possession. You never wanted anyone to think they could own you.

He's always talking about the future, when you've barely been together for long and you're only 15 and you've got your whole life ahead of you and the most commitment you've ever had to make before was choosing what to have for lunch.  
He's got it all mapped out in his head, a blueprint too stringent and stubborn for your tastes. If he knows you at all he should know that you like to keep your options open.

But he doesn't know you. When you ask him why he loves you the girl he describes isn't anything like you, but an impostor instead. And you can recognise a lie - he doesn't lie to you to get what he wants the way other boys do, tragically he lies because he actually believes it. You wonder how else he sees the world through these rose-tinted glasses, blinded by himself to see only the things he wants to see, hallucinating things he thinks are nice. You don't know whether or not to feel sorry for him; he lives in a world you'd want to visit, but you're not sure that it exists.

He puts you on a pedestal, his angel that can do no wrong - he wants all the world to recognise the flawless specimen he either deems or needs you to be.

_"You don't want me. I'm not a good person." You warn him after he tells you he loves you again in a state post-coital bliss. You hope that if he just stops saying it, you'll be able to live with yourself._

_He doesn't get it. He never does._  
_He turns to you with that pathetic_ smile _and those awe-filled eyes that you wish would stop looking at you, and he says:_  
_"You're perfect to me."_

And therein lies the problem. So you get desperate to prove to him that you're not.

So you cheat on him, and you know it hurts him and that hurts you but everytime you do it's a breath of fresh air. You're cold and callous about it in the hope that he can't forgive someone that doesn't feel remorse but some part of you is glad every time that stupid boy does.

It just becomes easier to play the monster, and you truly lose yourself in the role when you see him bruised and bloody all for you and you get a rush of satisfaction.

You're at war with yourself. You treat him like dirt so he'll finally get the message some day and dodge the bullet, but you still can't stop firing at him. You let him come back to you because dammit he's good to you in a way no one's ever been and you're sure no one else ever will. He's always within your reach and regretfully always under your control.

The difference is, now all your friends hate you, because they were his friends first. You broke their dear Johnny-boy. His best friend and second-in-command looks at you like a cockroach that keeps coming up through the woodwork and refuses to be exterminated. You don't blame him. You see he loves Johnny the way you never could and you just want to reach out and tell him it's okay and to look after the boy with a heart too big for his body, but you never do because you can't. All you know is how to be a bitch, so that's what they keep on calling you.

So for a girl more loved than you ever thought possible, all you can allow yourself to feel is the hate. You're more alone than ever, because the best thing you had wasn't enough.

Because you don't know how to love, and you're not all that sure you're ready to learn.


End file.
